


Incident of the Littlest Outlaw

by Elfbert



Category: Rawhide (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Only slashy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: Rowdy tries to help someone out. It doesn't go entirely to plan. But he does find out something about Gil Favor's past...





	Incident of the Littlest Outlaw

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick fic in celebration of rediscovering Rawhide after many years.

Rowdy stopped his horse for a moment, up on a slight slope, and wiped the sweat from his brow onto his sleeve. He squinted down at the herd and was just about to kick his horse on to tell drag to close up the herd a bit when a noise made him turn.

There was a boy - not more than eight or nine, he thought, sitting on a small pony, with his hands up.

“Hey…” Rowdy looked around, trying to see if someone had a gun on the kid. “You…what’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m lost, mister,” the boy answered, not lowering his hands.

Rowdy squinted up at the top of the valley, then out behind the herd, as far as he could see.

“You…uh, you can put your hands down, y’know,” he said.

The boy did so, giving Rowdy a small smile.

“You…you know where Pineville is, please, Mister?” He asked.

Rowdy nodded slowly. “Sure, we’re…we’re headin’ there.”

“Oh, Mister!” A huge smile broke out across his face. “Oh, Mister, can I go with you?”

“Errr…” Rowdy rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Sure, I guess. That where you’re from?”

The kid nodded. “Yes, Sir. I been out, huntin’, and then I got all turned around, an’ I couldn’t find the way back.”

“Oh, right. Well, we ain’t the fastest movin’ way to get back there, but…should be close to there maybe tomorrow afternoon, the Boss’ll send someone to ride in with you, I guess? Might need supplies anyway,” Rowdy rubbed his chin.

“You…got any food, Mister?” The boy looked down. “I ain’t eaten’ all day, an’…I’m awful tired. I didn’t sleep last night, ‘cause I was so scared of the coyote…”

Rowdy sighed. “Come on, we got a cook. He’ll give you some food, an’…maybe you can have a sleep, in the wagon for a bit.”

“Oh, Mister, you’re mighty kind,” the boy nodded. “An’…you’re not the trail boss?”

Rowdy smiled and shook his head as he led the way to where the chuck wagon was bouncing over the rough ground. “No, I’m the ramrod.”

“I wish I was a cowboy,” the boy said. “You must see so much, on the trail. I sure hope I could be a ramrod one day. You must be a real good cowboy.”

“Say, what’s your name, kid?” Rowdy asked, grinning at the youthful enthusiasm.

“Oh, my name’s Billy, Sir,” the boy stuck his hand out, arm stiff.

“Rowdy Yates,” Rowdy shook the offered hand. “An’ I’m sure you could make a good cowboy one day.”

 

Wishbone grumbled, as usual, but gave the boy a sandwich and got Mushy to put a few of the bedrolls together in the back of the supply wagon. He turned to Rowdy, shaking his head. “This outfit’s gonna be more strays ’n it is beeves way you lot carry on,” he huffed. “Bringin’ all everyone you meet in to eat our food an’ sleep in our wagons while we go about doin’ all the work.”

Rowdy waved a hand at him. “Ah, he’s just a kid, Wish, it’s lucky he found us! Anything could’ve happened to him out here.”

Wishbone shook his head again.

 

A short time later Rowdy returned to check to see the boy fast asleep, curled around his saddle bags. His pony trotting along behind the wagon quite happily.

They hadn’t gone too far before Rowdy spotted Gil and Pete riding in from the North. He kicked Fox into a canter and went to meet them.

“Everythin’ all right?” Gil asked Rowdy.

“Oh, sure Boss, fine,” Rowdy nodded. “Trail good ahead?”

Gil nodded. “Yeah, Pete found good water, about six miles up, slightly to the East of the trail, but won’t lose us more’n a few hours. Worth it, to let the cattle drink their fill.”

 

The herd plodded on, and after another ride around, checking on all the drovers, Rowdy went back to Gil’s side.

“You go into Pineville?” Rowdy asked.

Gil shook his head. “No need. Might let Wish go in, if he needs supplies.”

Rowdy nodded.

“Saw the sheriff, though, out on the range. Stage got hit up near Albertsville yesterday.”

“Yeah?” Rowdy reached forward to scratch Fox’s neck. “Askin’ if we’d seen anythin’?”

Gil nodded. “Told ‘em we hadn’t, but we’d keep an eye out. Say - darnedest thing, though. One of the passengers said they saw the robbers ride off - had their faces all covered over - an’ she swears they give the money and everything to a kid. S’pose they must’ve been gonna meet up later. Guess most people would trust a kid, patrols wouldn’t wanna search ‘em. Figure they just slipped and got saw by the passengers.”

Rowdy slowly turned in his saddle. “We…er…we picked up a kid. Earlier.”

Gil stopped his horse. “We did?”

Rowdy nodded. “Err..yeah, when you were out with Pete.”

“We picked him up?” Gil said, shoving his hat back on his head. “And jus’ when were ‘we’ gonna tell me this?”

Rowdy rubbed his stomach. “I…er…sorta forgot? ‘Cause he was asleep, so…”

Gil shook his head. “An’ just how did ‘we’ come to pick him up?”

“Oh, well, he said he was lost. I mean, he’s just a kid, asked if we were going to Pineville, so…well, I said we was, or…we could…I didn’t think…”

“No, that much I can tell,” Gil gave Rowdy a sarcastic smile. “Of all the…where is he?” Gil wrenched his horse around and set off toward the supply wagon.

As they approached Rowdy looked around. “His horse….it was tied on the back of the wagon,” he looked around.

Gil pulled open the back flap of the wagon and saw the kid sleeping there, with his saddle next to him. “Well his horse might’ve gone, but he ain’t - kept a hold of his saddle too.”

“Hey, kid,” Rowdy called.

The boy blinked awake.

“Mushy, hold up,” Gil called, and as the wagon stopped he reached inside. “Give me them saddlebags, boy,” he demanded.

Billy scrambled backward, but was no match for Gil’s strength, and he quickly lost the tug-of-war on the saddlebags.

Gil opened the first one, and glanced inside. Under a rag was a necklace of some sort of pearls and a couple of leather bill folds.

“Right, kid, you’re comin’ with me in to Pineville, sheriff can deal with you,” Gil said.

The kid stared, then, in the blink of an eye, he leapt out of the side of the wagon, slithering out from under the cover and running.

Gil kicked his horse into a trot and kept pace with the boy, Rowdy close behind him.

“Where’s you gonna go, kid?” He asked, steering his horse to keep up with Billy’s attempts to avoid him. “Seems like all runnin’ doing is wearing you out.”

Billy turned back on himself, and for a moment Gil was heading the wrong way, before he could pull his horse around to follow.

“Oh, for…” the boy was running fill tilt for the herd, so Gil grabbed his lariat, lazily swung it as he spurred his horse on and neatly lassoed Billy. “You wanna run into all them beeves, even your Ma won’t recognise you when you come out the other side,” he scolded.

Rowdy reached down and unhooked the lasso, then lifted the boy up to sit behind him on Fox.

“Ain’t worth killin’ yourself over,” he said. “But…guess you’ll be in Pineville tonight, rather’n tomorrow.”

“What happened to your horse, boy?” Gil asked, looping his lariat back up on his saddle.

The kid glared at him, so he shrugged. “Rowdy, get Jesus to put his saddle on a horse.”

“I’ll take him in,” Rowdy volunteered.

“Oh no,” Gil shook his head. “You ain’t gettin’ a night in town that easy. I’ll take him in, an’ by the time I’m back I want this herd at that lake.”

Rowdy frowned. “That’s near on six miles, you said!”

Gil nodded. “Sure is. So get ‘em moving!”

Rowdy frowned more, but dumped Billy back on the ground and headed for the remuda, grabbing the saddle from the supply wagon as he went by.

 

He felt stupid - but it wasn’t as if Gil didn’t pick up everyone they came across, no matter what he might say. And they hadn’t all been on the level, either - murderers, con artists, thieves. Rowdy shook his head. So easy to preach, he thought, without looking in any mirror.

He got the horse and took it back to where Gil was waiting. The worst thing was the feeling he’d let him down, somehow. He was always trying to do the right thing - prove he’d grown up, prove he was the best ramrod an outfit could have.

 

“Hey, Boss,” he called, as Gil began riding away, Billy’s horse firmly tied to the horn of his saddle. “I’m sorry.”

Gil barely turned around. “Push that herd,” was the only answer he got.

 

He turned to see Pete nearby, watching.

“You heard him,” Rowdy called. “Get them beeves movin’.”

Pete laughed. “Trust you, Rowdy, t’pick up the littlest outlaw I ever did see.”

“Get stuffed,” Rowdy shouted, as Pete rode away.

He frowned more. If there was one thing he hated more than being wrong it was everyone knowing about it.

 

Gil looked across at the boy.

“Gotta name?” he asked.

Billy didn’t answer him.

“So, what’re you doin’ with all this?” Gil patted the saddlebag which sat in front of him.

“It ain’t yours,” Billy frowned.

“Ain’t yours either, from what I hear,” Gil answered, pulling a cigarello from his pocket and lighting it.

“Can I have one?” Billy asked.

Gil laughed, a cloud of smoke streaming from his nose. “Nope.”

“I’m jus’ lookin’ after it for a friend, Mister. I didn’t know it were stolen.”

“Who said it was stolen?” Gil asked.

The boy looked down at his saddle. “You wouldn’t be takin’ me to the sheriff otherwise.”

“So, who’s you lookin’ after it for?” Gil asked.

The boy didn’t answer again.

Gil looked up at the sun, squinting against the blue sky. 

“Sure hope they weren’t gonna leave you alone overnight out here,” he said. “Don’t seem like a friend’d do that.”

He still didn’t get an answer, and as they reached the top of the valley’s sloped side he kicked his horse into a canter, clicking his tongue at the other horse to encourage it to keep pace. He knew the clear skies now would lead to a crisp, cold night at this altitude, and wanted to reach town well before nightfall.

 

Rowdy smiled to himself as they reached the lush grass around the small lake. It was dark, but they’d done it.

He rode around, telling the men to bed down the beeves and Wishbone to hurry with some food.

The herd settled easily, content to eat and drink and sleep - much like the men. He hadn’t been sure they’d do it, but once the cattle had smelled the water the going had been easy.

He set the schedule for the nighthawks, then settled down to sleep, wishing that Gil had been back in time to see how easily he’d achieved the task set to him - he hoped it might get him a little way back into the Boss’s good books. He hated it when they fell out. Not that it happened often - but they could, he admitted to himself - both be stubborn as each other, and it didn’t always make for smooth sailing.

 

He was awoken by a shake on his shoulder. It was still dark, and he blinked up at the stars.

“I ain’t on nighthawk,” he grumbled.

“No, Señor Rowdy, it is me, Jesus.”

“What? What’s up?” Rowdy sat up, rubbing his face.

“Señor Rowdy, it is the horses,” Jesus said in a soft voice. “I think I hear something, so I went to check, and Señor Favor’s horse was there.”

Rowdy frowned. “His…he’s back?”

Jesus dropped his gaze. “No, Señor Rowdy, I cannot see him. I think…please, come.”

Rowdy followed Jesus, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as they picked their way through the sleeping men.

Jesus picked up a lamp and led the way to the remuda.

Gil’s horse was standing at the end of the line, it’s saddle on, as if nothing had happened.

“Here, Senor Rowdy,” Jesus pointed.

Rowdy squinted in the poor light. Then his heart felt like it hit his boots. There was a smear of blood, and a stripe on the stirrup leather.

“I think perhaps it is from a bullet, Señor Rowdy,” Jesus’s face creased in worry.

Rowdy looked out to the darkness of the plains.

“I’m goin’ out - Jesus, first light, if I’m not back with the boss, ride out with…everyone we can spare.”

Jesus nodded. “Of course, Señor Rowdy. Good luck.”

Rowdy nodded, mounted up and took Gil’s horse’s reins in his hand.

 

He didn’t know what he was doing - it was dark, and there was no hope of finding any tracks.

But rode back up the trail, to where Gil and the boy had left them the day before, thinking he could at least cover some distance before he needed the light.

 

As he reached their old camp he turned to head toward town, and once he’d gone a little ways he began calling out, hoping that even in the dark he could still find Gil.

 

By the time the faintest glow of dawn was showing in the East he was frustrated and cold, and more worried than ever. He stopped and looked around, looking at the horse by his side.

“Wish you could lead me to him, Boy,” he muttered. “Wish you could tell me what happened.”

He stood in his stirrups, scanning the land. There was a lot of low, scrubby grass, but few trees or rocks.

As the light improved he tried to keep to high ground, hoping to see Gil walking somewhere, probably annoyed at losing his horse.

In all the years he’d known Gil Favor he’d only seen him come off his horse twice. Once when his horse had gone down in a rabbit hole, and once when he was trying to break in a young stallion.

He stopped Fox on the crest of another small rise, and scanned the land around him again. This time, however, he stopped, and his blood ran cold. For a second he didn’t do anything, because he knew that his next move would change the course of his life.

Then he kicked Fox on, toward the slumped figure on the hillside. Distinctive batwing chaps and dark vest and shirt meant he knew he’d found Gil. He just wasn’t sure he was in time.

Fox skidded to a stop and Rowdy was out of the saddle in a second. He had expected to see Gil with a bullet wound, or a knock on the head.

He didn’t expect Gil to look like he’d been run over by the whole herd.

The eye Rowdy could see was almost swollen closed, his hands were bloody, lips split and blood all over his face. One sleeve was ripped clean off his shirt, and the buttons had been wrenched off the front.

“Boss?” He rolled Gil onto his back and pressed his ear to his chest. He felt like he could almost cry when he heard the steady beat. He also realised that Gil was cold.

“Hey, now, come on, Boss,” Rowdy stood and grabbed his canteen from his saddle, pulling the bandana from his neck and dousing it.

He sat down, wiping the wet cloth over Gil’s face. “Come on, come on,” he muttered. He paused, remembering things Wishbone did. Then ran his hands through Gil’s hair, feeling for any injuries. There were a few bumps, but nothing that felt too bad.

“Mister Favor?” He paused. “Gil? Come on, wake up.”

Gil groaned.

“Yeah, that’s it, come on, wake up!” Rowdy dared to put a hand on Gil’s cheek, gently patting it.

A few seconds later he felt Gil tense, as if a shock had gone through him.

“That’s right, come on, wake up!”

“Row’y?” Gil managed to mumble, one eye opening a slit.

“Yeah, Boss, it’s me, you’re gonna be okay.” He put a hand on Gil’s arm, hoping he could sit up. “Easy, easy!” Rowdy tried to soothe. “You’re stone cold, here.” He shrugged out of his coat and tried to wrap it around Gil.

Gil’s teeth were chattering, so Rowdy sat down, spreading his legs. “Come here,” he half dragged Gil up to sitting against his chest and wrapped his arms around him, re-arranging the coat to cover his front. He rubbed his hands over Gil’s chest and stomach, then up and down his arms.

“Rowdy?” Gil’s voice sounded weak, muffled. “Got any whisky?”

“Err..no. But I told Jesus to ride out here with some of the men at first light, so…well, they’ll be here soon.”

“Gotta get after the boy.” Gil tried to sit up straight, and Rowdy could feel the tension in his body.

“Whoa, whoa, no, you just gotta stay here,” Rowdy wrapped his arms around Gil’s chest. “I just got you back, I ain’t letting you run into another fight.”

But, as Rowdy well knew, there was little point arguing with a Gil Favor set on a course of action.

Gil managed to roll onto all fours, and Rowdy figured he should help him instead of fight him, so scrambled to his feet.

“Help me into the saddle,” Gil grabbed the reins of his horse and reached up to his saddle, wincing.

Rowdy reached down to grab Gil’s foot, and gave him a boost up, hearing another grunt of pain and frowning.

“We could jus’ ride back to camp and get Wish to check you over, ‘fore we go,” he said, hopefully.

“No time,” Gil answered, and the way he was hunched in the saddle made Rowdy wish he had brought some whisky with him.

“What’s the rush?” Rowdy went to grab Fox’s reins, and then noticed his hand. “Hey…hey, is this blood?”

“It ain’t nothin’,” Gil answered, kicking his horse forward.

Rowdy tried to protest as he noticed the missing sleeve and Gil’s bandana were both tied tightly around his calf.

“You been shot?” Rowdy clambered onto Fox and kicked him on, catching up quickly. “They shoot you?”

“Lucky they couldn’t aim right,” Gil answered.

“What happened, anyway?” Rowdy frowned.

 

****

 

“Is it your Pa?” Gil asked, after he and Billy had ridden for a while.

The boy glared. “No!”

Gil shrugged. “Ain’t no need to get angry.”

“My Pa’s dead,” Billy eventually said.

Gil looked across at him - his expression was miserable. “Sorry, kid. I know it’s hard when you lose your Pa young.”

Billy didn’t answer.

“Mine died when I were eight,” Gil continued.

Billy glanced at him. “Yeah?”

Gil nodded. “Yeah. Weren’t no great loss, though. He were a mean, good fer nothin’ man. Sounds like yours was a good ‘un?”

The silence stretched again, only broken by the horses blowing.

“’S my Uncle,” Billy said. “He made me do this.”

“He s’posed to be lookin’ after you?” Gil asked.

Billy nodded.

“We’ll tell the Sheriff. I’m sure if we give the things back, it’ll all be okay.”

“Can I stay with you an’ Rowdy an’ be a cowboy?” Billy asked.

Gil smiled. “It ain’t a life for a kid. It ain’t a life for a man, not really. But, once you got your schoolin’, and you done growin’, you can choose whatever you want to do.”

“I wanna be ramrod, like Rowdy,” Billy answered.

Gil laughed. “You don’t wanna be a trail boss?”

Billy shook his head. “You gotta be mean to be a trail boss.”

Gil gave a half shrug and ran his tongue around his teeth, smiling. “Yeah…yeah, sometimes you do.”

“An’ I don’t wanna be mean,” Billy nodded.

 

They rode on, until Gil slowed down, unscrewing the cap on his canteen and taking a drink, then offering it to Billy.

“Not far now,” he said, as Billy drank deeply.

“Got any food, Mister?” Billy asked.

“Sure,” Gil reached around to his own saddlebags and opened one, rooting in it for some jerky. His horse moved as his weight shifted in the saddle, sidestepping around, and suddenly pain exploded in his left leg.

He instinctively knew he’d been shot, even before his brain had registered the sound of gunfire. He slid out of the saddle, dropping and biting back a yelp of pain as his boots hit the ground. He’d grabbed Billy by the arm, and the kid hit the dirt next to him. He covered Billy as best he could.

“Hey, Mister!” Billy yelped.

“Stay down,” Gil hissed, one hand finding the boy’s head and holding him down, the other holding his pistol as he scanned the land for where the shot had come from.

“They shootin’ at us?” Billy asked, his voice wavering.

“Yup,” Gil answered, scanning the land around them.

A voice called out from somewhere up the hill from them. “Billy! Billy, you come on up to us now, with your saddlebags.”

Gil turned to look at Billy. “Your Uncle?”

Billy nodded, and the look on his face told Gil everything he needed to know.

“You can stay with me, I’ll see you’re all right.”

“Billy! Come on up here,” the voice called again.

“I ain’t!” Billy shouted back.

“Mister, you let him go, or we’ll come down there and get him.”

Gil risked taking his eyes off the slope and looked down at his leg. He could feel a slow trickle of blood sliding down into his boot, but he could still move his foot, so he ignored it the best he could.

“You just try it,” he yelled back.

Another voice, from down the hill shouted out.

“You try anything and I shoot the boy, Mister.”

He looked at Billy and gave a small shrug. “Sorry, kid.”

“You can fight ‘em, Mister!” Billy said.

Gil shook his head. “Three against one? They’d kill us both, Billy.”

The look on his face tore into Gil.

“I won’t give up on you,” Gil said softly, as he stood, raising his hands.

“Billy, bring us his gun,” the voice called. “If you mess about, we’ll kill ‘im.”

Gil looked down at Billy.

“Best do what he says,” he said softly. “You can tell ‘em anything you like, about how come I was takin’ you to town. No need for him to be angry with you. And soon as I can, I’ll come help you, okay?”

Billy didn’t look very sure, but reached out and picked up Gil’s gun. He didn’t, however, move. Just stood and held it.

“For God’s sake, Billy, come on!” The voice shouted.

Gil looked up. “You sure are brave,” he called out. “Makin’ a kid do your work.”

A man moved out from behind a low patch of tangled shrubbery, and began walking down the hill, pistol levelled at Gil. Another man followed, walking a different path.

They both wore bandanas over their faces.

“You move a muscle, Mister, we’ll shoot you both,” the first one said.

Gil kept his hands raised, palms open, trying to ignore the wet feeling in his boot and the flaring pain up his leg.

As the first man reached him he shoved his gun back in his holster and punched Gil hard in the face.

Gil straightened up and stared into the man’s eyes. “Sure are a real brave man, threatenin’ to kill a kid,” he said.

“You got a big mouth, for a man about to die,” he said, and punched again, his fist slamming into Gil’s stomach.

“No!” Billy said, and shakily held the gun up, pointing it at the man. “You can’t kill him! He was helpin’ me.”

The man laughed, and the second one grabbed the gun from Billy, giving him a slap around the face too.

Gil threw himself at the one who’d slapped Billy, getting in a few good solid punches before they hit the ground. Then a slight noise behind him was all the warning Gil got of something smashing into the back of his head.

He tried to curl up as all three of them set about him, kicking him in the head, the back, wherever they could reach. At first he could hear Billy crying, but after a while all he could hear was his own harsh breathing.

“Helpin’ himself, more like,” the first man said. “He take anythin’?”

Gil didn’t hear an answer, but could only assume Billy had indicated that he hadn’t.

A last kick to his back left him gasping in pain as the men walked away. He heard one of them shouting at his horse, and he stayed still, listening.

*****

“They said they were going West,” Gil added.

“And why d’you care? We should get to town, and find a doctor for you an’ let them raise a posse to find these jaspers,” Rowdy said.

“We need to get the boy,” Gil ground out.

Rowdy sniffed and wiped his face. “Some kid, gettin’ in the business early? Leave him, the law’ll catch up with him in the end.”

“Maybe someone can stop him before he goes down that route,” Gil answered.

“Yeah, maybe they can - maybe someone can. But not you, not now. We got a herd to move an’ you need a doctor!” Rowdy reached out and grabbed the reins of Gil’s horse.

The look Gil gave him made him drop them again.

“Look, I shouldn’t have picked up the kid, but I didn’t know he was a robber! Forget about him, we’ll tell the sheriff and they can find them. I know you took a lickin’, and…well, believe me, I’d love to teach ‘em a lesson, but…”

“You di’n’t see the look on his face,” Gil said softly, kicking his horse on.

“The…what do you care about his face?” Rowdy protested.

He didn’t get an answer, and shook his head in frustration.

“Here,” Gil pointed. “They cut off the trail.”

Rowdy hadn’t even really noticed they were following tracks, but looked down and nodded - three or four horses, from what he could see, heading out West.

Gil kicked his horse into a canter, and immediately regretted it slightly. He slid his foot out of the stirrup, which made it a little better, but he felt like he’d been trampled by a whole herd.

“Got some water?” He asked Rowdy.

Rowdy nodded, slowing and passing his canteen over.

Gil took a few swigs.

“He was terrified,” he said softly.

“Of you?” Rowdy asked, taking the canteen back and drinking himself.

Gil looked at him. “Of his Uncle. The man supposed to be lookin’ after him.”

“How’d you know?” Rowdy asked.

Gil kicked his horse on again.

“Figure, once upon a time, was me wearin’ that look.”

Rowdy frowned. “Y…you?”

Gil gave half a shrug.

“But…why’d you…”

“You ever scared of your Pa?” Gil asked.

Rowdy pulled a face. “Well…he di’n’t put up with no messin’, but…you know, I probably deserved it, when he give me a hiding.”

“I were sure scared of mine,” Gil continued. “And it ain’t a good feelin’ when person you rely on t’keep you fed, keep you safe, is a person you’re scared of.”

“Well, no,” Rowdy agreed. “But…”

“And when you’re a kid, there ain’t a whole lot you can do about it, on your own.”

Rowdy frowned again. “So…what’d you do?”

Favor shrugged. “Oh, my Pa fixed that little problem all on his own,” he said softly.

“How?” Rowdy pushed.

“Got hisself hanged,” Favor answered.

Rowdy blew out a breath, and opened his mouth to ask more, but seeing the expression on Gil’s face he thought better of it.

 

Gil kept them moving, following the tracks in the dust.

“Think we’ll ever catch ‘em?” Rowdy asked after a while.

“Ain’t no reason for them to ride hard,” he answered. “They don’t think I got a horse, or a reason to track ‘em. ‘Sides, they ain’t galloping, look at the tracks.”

They’d ridden for about another hour when Gil pointed. “There. Get down, see if that horse dung’s still warm.”

Rowdy pulled a face, but complied. “Yeah, still is.”

“Right, let’s go up the hill, keep below the ridge though, maybe they stopped for a rest or some chow.”

“You think you’re gonna be much good in a fight, Boss?”

“Ain’t plannin’ on havin’ a fight. Just want that boy. Army or sheriff can track the rest of ‘em down.”

 

They moved onto the high ground, and Rowdy pointed. “Looks like a fire, in them trees.”

Gil grunted. “They sure ain’t tryin’ to hide.”

“Must think they don’t need to,” Rowdy said. “Wonder why they didn’t just kill you? Be safer.”

Gil shrugged. “Kid begged ‘em not to. I don’t know. Maybe they don’t wanna add murder to their crimes. Don’t have the stomach for it?”

 

As they got close Rowdy gestured to a nearby tree. “Should probably leave the horses…but…can you walk?”

Gil shrugged. “Won’t know ’til I try.”

“Well look, they ain’t goin’ nowhere, so how about I take a look at that hole in your leg first. Might be we need you on your feet,” Rowdy suggested.

“All right, all right.”

They stopped, and Gil carefully slid out of the saddle, landing as softly as he could.

“Here, sit on this rock,” Rowdy gestured.

Gil did so, keeping watch on the trickle of smoke from down the hill.

“Well, I ain’t no Wishbone,” Rowdy said. “But let’s have a look-see.”

He unwrapped the blood-soaked sleeve and bandana and lifted the leg of Gil’s pants, trying to ignore the flinch as the material came unstuck.

“Well, went through,” Rowdy said. “Just tore you up some. How does it feel?”

Gil shrugged. “Ain’t so bad.”

Rowdy shook his head, remembering Gil spending a whole day in the saddle with a foot broken and infected so bad he almost died.

“Seems to me you ain’t the best judge, when it comes to that.” Rowdy pulled his still-damp bandana from his pocket and poured a little water over the wound, then wrapped it tight, adding the other two makeshift layers back on, as best he could. “Well, hope they don’t want a fight,” he said, pulling Gil’s pants leg back over his boot.

“Hey, shhh, what’s that,” Gil grabbed his arm and pointed.

Rowdy squinted through the trees. “Riders. Maybe a posse?”

“Hey…no, that’s Jesus, and Wish and the others…Rowdy, go fetch ‘em, ‘fore they spook the gang.”

Rowdy flicked Fox’s reins loose and jumped into the saddle, kicking him on down the slope, glad that they had some back up.

 

Pete had his gun drawn as soon as he heard Rowdy approaching, but smiled when he saw who it was.

Rowdy gestured for them to be quiet and rode up to the small group.

“Senor Rowdy, you find Senor Favor?” Jesus asked, looking worried.

“Yeah, yeah, I found him, he’s okay,” Rowdy nodded. “Come on, up here, an’ be quiet, we got sight of the gang.”

They headed up to where Gil was still sitting on a rock, and Wishbone jumped down from his horse, brandishing a bag and began fussing around.

“So? Jesus said there was blood. Where you hit?”

Gil gestured down. “Rowdy jus’ done it all up, so how’s about you leave it be,” he said. “If you got some whisky I wouldn’t say no, though.”

Wishbone grumbled, but handed over the bottle and allowed Gil to take a couple of swigs before grabbing it back.

“So, Boss, what’s the deal?” Pete asked, having walked away a short distance to make his own assessment of their position versus the camp of the gang.

“All I want is to get that kid away from them,” Gil said. “No need for any bloodshed, no heroics. He’s just a kid who don’t deserve what life’s dealt him.”

 

They worked out a plan, Gil sending Quince to town to fetch the sheriff, the others spreading out, moving across the hillside, keeping low and under cover.

Rowdy walked next to Gil, occasionally offering him a hand or support as they clambered over rocks and tree roots. Gil was limping, but managing.

Once they had the camp surrounded Gil called out from behind the rock he was using for cover.

“Hey down there,” he smiled as the men in the camp jumped up, looking around. “You ain’t got a hope, I got five guns on you. Throw down your weapons.”

“You ain’t got shit,” the man called back. “You think I’m stupid?”

“Pete, holler out,” Gil ordered.

“Sure, Boss,” Pete called.

“Wish?”

“I’m here, Boss,” Wishbone answered.

Each of them called out in turn, and Gil smiled as the men in the camp looked more and more uncertain.

“Now, Mister, I ain’t concerned with you,” Gil shouted. “Just send out the boy, with my gun.”

“Why should we?” The man shouted back.

“‘Cause if you don’t I’ll shoot you,” Gil shouted back, carefully lining up his shot with a rifle that Pete had brought along.

“What d’you want with him? He’s jus’ a useless kid,” the man called back.

“If he’s useless then he ain’t worth dyin’ over, is he, Mister?” Gil called back. Then he squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into the dirt an inch to the right of the man’s foot.

There was a flurry of activity, and finally the boy was handed Gil’s pistol and given a shove.

“C’mon, Billy,” Gil called. “Just walk up here, nice an’ easy.”

Billy hesitated, then began walking. As he got closer Gil moved slightly, keeping his gun aimed at the leader. Billy broke into a run, and grabbed onto Gil’s chaps, hiding behind him, looking down into the camp.

“Y’okay?” Gil glanced down, noting the bruises on the kid’s face.

Billy nodded.

Gil took his pistol back, sliding it into his holster.

“Now all of you, throw down your weapons,” he called.

“You said you just wanted the boy,” the leader shouted back.

“Sure, an’ I don’t want you shootin’ me in the back when I go,” Gil answered. “Throw ‘em down. You can buy new ones soon enough, with all that stuff you took off that stagecoach.”

He took careful aim again, but this time it was Pete who put a bullet in the ground next to one of the others.

They slowly dropped their guns.

“Now keep ‘em hands high. Rowdy, get the guns,” Gil ordered.

Rowdy did as he was told, then headed back to the cover of the rocks, climbing up to Gil.

“You just stay where you are ’til we’re gone,” Gil called down. “Then start walkin’. Jesus, get their horses.”

He turned away, putting a hand on Billy’s back and giving him a gentle shove in the right direction.

“You stick with Rowdy,” he said. “He’ll see you right.”

 

Gil lagged behind slightly, trying not to limp too obviously. Wishbone came along beside him, and frowned.

“It painin’ you?”

Gil grunted.

“So, what’s so special ‘bout this boy, then?” He gestured.

“He just a kid who got a bad start. That’s his uncle, back there, decidin’ on his career - right up to a noose ‘round his neck.”

Wishbone glanced back. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Jus’ gonna ride into town with him, see he gets to somewhere that’ll look after him proper.”

“Well I’ll come into town with you. Get your leg looked at, pick up a few supplies.”

“Ah, you need to get back to the drive. Them drovers’ll need feedin’,” Gil answered.

“They don’t need feedin’ more’n you need doctorin’. Mushy’ll feed ‘em good enough. They can eat it or starve, an’ I’ll jus’ bet they eat it.”

Gil sighed. If there was one man more stubborn than he was, it was Wishbone.

“Guess you better see if you can persuade him away from Rowdy, in a minute. He’s pretty took with our ramrod.”

Wishbone smiled. “Who was you took with, when you decided to be a cowpoke?”

Gil shook his head, smiling. “I weren’t took with a cowhand. I were took with the idea I’d be free, roamin’ the land.”

“An’ maybe you would be, if you wasn’t saddled with twenty drovers and three thousand head,” Wishbone observed.

“It’s still a freedom, of sorts,” Gil answered.

 

They reached their horses, and Gil managed to mount up with only a slight grimace.

“You lot, get back to the herd. Push ‘em on.”

Rowdy nodded. “Pete, we’ll catch up to you.”

“Oh no,” Gil quickly interjected. “Me an’ Wish’ll go into town, all the rest of you, go on back. Soon as I see Jim I’ll send him along too.”

“But Boss,” Rowdy began.

“We’re pushin’ a herd, not runnin’ day trips to town! Now go!”

Wishbone nodded, triumphantly, and grabbed the reins of the horses from Jesus. “We can just give these ponies to the sheriff, too. Now, pick out yours, son, an’ mount up,” he said to Billy.

Rowdy frowned, but obeyed his order.

 

As they rode back he moved closer to Pete, letting Fox fall into step with Pete’s mount.

“Say, Pete, Mister Favor ever say anything to you about his Pa?” He asked.

Pete glanced around, checking where the others were. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

“Oh, he just…said somethin’, and…well, didn’t seem right to ask him ‘bout it.”

“Probably ain’t right to ask me neither, then,” Pete answered.

“He…said his Pa got hung,” Rowdy continued. “He ever tell you that?”

Pete gave him a sidelong glance. “Yeah, we got talkin’ one day, ‘bout our families. He told me.”

Rowdy nodded slowly. “He…say what for?”

“What’s it to you?” Pete asked.

“Oh, I dunno. Jus’…you know, once he said it, I jus’ got to wonderin’.”

“Then you should just get away from wonderin’ too,” Pete answered. “If he wants to tell you, he can, but I ain’t. It ain’t my place.”

Rowdy sighed. Pete was probably closer to Gil than he was - in some ways - at least, they’d known each other a long time. But he should have known Pete wouldn’t talk.

 

Gil sat in the saloon, a bottle of whisky between he and Wishbone.

Billy had been handed over to the town school teacher, who promised to care for him.

The doctor had checked Gil out, under Wishbone’s close supervision, and grudgingly declared he was fit to return to the herd, once he’d been liberally doused with alcohol on his various cuts and bruises, and his leg had been examined for any cloth trapped in the wound, and cleaned as best the doctor could manage before being bound up.

Wishbone poured him another shot, pushing the glass toward him. “Be best to have another, ‘for we ride back,” he said. “Medicinal purposes,” he added.

“Feel like…we should do something more for the kid,” Gil answered, sipping the drink.

“Ain’t nothin’ more we can do,” Wishbone answered. “We need to be movin’ on. Town’ll look after him. Sheriff’ll find his Uncle. Seems like there’s good folk here.”

Gil rubbed a hand over his face, gently prodding at his still-swollen black eye, and tender broken nose. “He wanted to be jus’ like Rowdy,” Gil continued, ignoring Wish’s comments. “Be a ramrod.”

Wishbone smiled. “Now, ain’t no one ever said they want to be the cook. ‘Nough to make a man feel mighty jealous.”

Gil laughed. “Well, he was pretty sure he di’n’t want to be trail boss either.”

“Did you?” Wishbone asked.

Gil shook his head, grinning. “Nope. I jus’ wanted three meals a day an’ my own horse.”

“Well, least someone appreciated the cook,” Wishbone sighed.

They got back to the herd before they’d made evening camp, so Gil headed up to point to find Rowdy, whilst Wishbone regained control of the chuck wagon from Mushy.

 

Rowdy smiled widely. “You okay, Boss?”

Gil smiled back. “Yeah, good enough.”

“Y’know, I…for a minute there, when I seen you on the ground…well, I kinda thought…”

“Well, thanks, for comin’ after me. Even if it was against orders.”

“Hey, you just said get the beeves to the lake - I done that,” Rowdy protested. “I only come after you when your horse got back without you.”

Gil smiled. “Guess you did at that.”

They rode in silence for a short way, before Rowdy finally plucked up enough courage.

“What you said…about your Pa…that why you said what you did about mine, when we caught up with him?” He asked.

Gil shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I never thought…y’know, ‘bout your folks.”

Gil glanced across at him, smile tugging at his lips. “You think I fell t’Earth fully formed?”

Rowdy smiled. “No, no. I jus’ figured…maybe your Pa was like you. You know…”

“Do I?” Gil asked.

“Well…you’re always helpin’ folk, an’…you know,” Rowdy said awkwardly.

“Yeah, well, the one thing he taught me were what I didn’t wanna be when I was full growed,” Gil answered.

“What…what’d he do?” Rowdy asked, hesitantly, unsure he’d get an answer.

Gil looked around, then nodded up the trail. “Should bed ‘em down here. Don’t wanna be too close to the river. Can get ‘cross it ‘fore noon camp tomorrow if we camp here tonight.”

Rowdy nodded.

“Go tell Wish and the others.”

Rowdy sighed, and nodded.

 

That night the camp seemed a little subdued to Rowdy - people were tired, and everyone was on best behaviour whilst the Boss was recovering.

 

Rowdy poured a cup of coffee for himself, and one for Gil, who was sitting on a boulder, looking down on the herd in the fading light.

“Here,” he nudged Gil’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Gil took it.

“Mind if I…” Rowdy gestured next to him.

“Nope,” Gil moved over slightly.

Gil lit a cigarello and took a deep drag.

“Murder,” he said, around the smoke. “That’s what he hung for.”

Rowdy stared, mouth open. “He…did he do it?” he asked, and then wished he’d been more tactful.

Gil blew out a plume of smoke. “Oh yeah, he did it all right.”

Rowdy shook his head. “He…who was it? Did he get in a fight?”

Gil shook his head. “It was a woman. He was…too much of a coward, t’get in a fight with anyone’d fight back.”

Rowdy sighed, looking into the gloom, listening to the herd, to the prairie. “That…must be hard. I mean, everyone knowin’…when you’re just a kid. What’d your Ma do?”

Gil crushed out the cigarello on the thigh of his chaps, shredding the butt with his fingers before letting it go into the breeze.

“Was my Ma he killed,” he said, softly.


End file.
